Anonymous Enigma
by WaterColoured
Summary: AU. Haruka, a budding artist with an amazing amount of talent, is finally starting college with his best friend, Makoto. Everything is going well, until he hits a creative slump and cannot work up the inspiration to draw anything anymore. With the combined troubles of Nagisa's plans and a troublesome red head he met on campus, what's it going to take for Haru to find his muse?


**A/N: Just a few things to mention about this fic. **

**First of all, it's an AU where Rin hasn't yet met Haruka, Makoto, Nagisa or Rei. Secondly, in this fic, Nitori is the same age as Rin, but Gou, Nagisa and Rei are in their final year of high school. Thirdly, I have no idea how long this will be, but it will most likely have around 15 chapters, all of which will be longer than this one.**

**So, I hope this first chapter is to your liking. :)**

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_**Anonymous Enigma**_

_**Chapter One**_

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The pencil hovered above the blank expanse of his sketchbook, his hand barely moving from the position it had been in for the past half an hour. Haruka was suffering the very thing artists of every kind cowered in fear over – a deadly disease poisoning his mind, fogging the space around his creative stream and destroying all of his ideas as soon as they were thought up.

He had artists-block.

He was frustrated.

This very rarely happened to him. His mind was a haven for ideas – he had so many, he never ran out. His creativity was like a sixth sense. His artistic ability came so naturally, when he decided to bring his thoughts to life, he could sway his pens ink across his paper so easily; he barely needed to think about what he was doing. His talent was remarkable. He was envied among many.

But now, as he sat at the desk concealed in his bedroom, with the setting Sunday sun shifting in through the cracks in his blinds, he would consider himself lucky if he could formulate more than two lines without erasing his work.

He was uninspired.

The problem had started when he had moved into his dorm room only a few days ago. He was attending college with his new roommate, and childhood best friend, Makoto Tachibana. And whilst rooming with Makoto was enjoyable, his new living arrangement was hardly something to get excited about. Perhaps, the bleak design of his new apartment mingled with a feeling he could only describe as being homesick was what was causing his sudden loss of passion.

He was having withdrawals.

He dropped the pencil onto the desk, and rubbed his tired eyes with the palm of his hands. He toyed with the idea of trying again in half an hour or so, but glancing at his open sketchbook changed his mind. The urge to create was burning the tips of his fingers. He needed to draw – he just didn't know what.

A knock drew him from his thoughts.

"Come in."

The door edged open gently. It was Makoto.

"Haru? How's the art going?"

"Not well," Haruka leaned towards his left, allowing Makoto a better look at the dismal white pages of his sketchbook.

"Don't worry! I'm sure you'll get an idea sooner or later. You just need to give yourself time to think! You draw so much, it's no wonder you're out of ideas." His face tilted with his soothing smile, his voice calm and gentle, though it didn't reassure Haruka as much as Makoto was probably hoping it would.

He appreciated it, though.

"I just wanted to let you know I'm about to start dinner."

"I'll do it," Haruka stood from his chair and moved past Makoto, who followed him into the kitchen.

"You know we're out of mackerel, right?"

_Damn it._

"Doesn't matter, I'll still cook."

"Okay, Haru!"

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The soft blades of grass rubbed against Haruka's skin whilst the sun washed across his cheeks, flushing them a gentle pink as his eyes were coaxed shut by the lazy afternoon heat. His hands rested against his steadily rising chest, the college building fading to the back of his mind with the end of his hectic day of lectures. His sketchbook lay forgotten beside his feet.

He had brought it with him with the smallest ounce of hope that being out in the open would get his creative juices pumping. But after his first full day attending the college, with all of the new information his mind had to process, his brain was fried. He wouldn't have been able to draw even if his life depended on it, so for today, he had given up.

There was a relaxing silence circulating through the air, only disturbed by the occasional sweep of wind blowing the fallen leaves across the bed of grass, or the cheerful chirping of the birds high up in the surrounding trees. It was peaceful, tranquil. It was the perfect place to think, so that's just what Haruka did.

He thought about his new life as a college student. He thought about his old high school life. He thought about his old friends that he'd left back home. He thought about his future, and what he was going to do once he finished his education.

But most importantly, he thought of his art.

Why couldn't he draw? Why was it that every time he put his pencil to paper, he mind drew a blank?

He thought he finally knew the answer.

He didn't have a reason to draw anymore.

He couldn't draw because he was forcing himself to. It was his one slice of normality that he had kept from his old, comforting hometown, to this new, unfamiliar place. The sketchbook he had brought with him was one of his favourites. It was filled with his high school memories, with his friends, Makoto, Nagisa and Rei, with his old life. As he flicked through the pages, his heart warmed, and he couldn't keep the smile off of his face. It was the passion he needed; it was why he could draw.

He had no memories to preserve of this place, that's why he couldn't draw.

The realisation stunned him, but it made sense. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it sooner, really.

It didn't put his mind at ease.

"NITORI!" a thunderous voice growled, disturbing his peace of mind and jolting him awake with a start. He sat up and spotted two boys around his age in the distance. The first one, who was facing Haruka, had a shock of vibrant red hair atop his head, with a few strands caught underneath the headphones swinging against his neck with his frantic movements. He looked downright pissed off, his otherwise handsome features contorted in a rage of annoyance as he glared down at the smaller boy in front of him. This boy had his back to Haruka, but with the way he was feebly waving his arms in front of his chest, Haru guessed he was pleading for some kind of forgiveness.

His presumption was only proved correct when he heard the anxious cry of, "Pl-please, Matsuoka-senpai, I didn't mean to!"

Whatever Nitori didn't mean to do was never found out as Haruka grew bored and lay back down, closing his eyes and drowning out their voices from his mind completely. He could stay here for at least another half an hour before Makoto would get worried and come looking for him, and he was going to relax as much as he could before he went back to the apartment to tackle the fresh workload he had been handed.

Unfortunately, this was an event the universe obviously didn't want Haruka to miss.

No less than five minutes later, he could feel the ground vibrate beneath him, but he thought nothing of it. It wasn't until a ripping sound, followed by a harsh kick to his right leg, and a panicked curse of, "Shit!" was heard that Haruka opened his eyes.

He glanced around quickly, trying to figure out what had just happened, only to discover the red head from early lying beside him in a heap on the ground.

And then, his mind registered what exactly that ripping noise had been.

With a cautious glance to his feet, Haruka searched for his forgotten sketchbook, hoping to God that he was just imagining things.

His heart sank when he located the book, and found that his suspicions were correct.

There, lay only a few centimetres from his feet, was his sketchbook. But instead of the once-pristine perfection of the former pages lay a book that looked like it had just been dragged through a bush backwards. The top page was crinkled and bent out of shape, with a rip that stopped midway down the page, to reveal a muddy footprint slapped across the last portrait he had managed to finish before he had left his high school.

The red head beside him had tripped over his sketchbook whilst chasing Nitori, and destroyed it in the process.

Haruka stared at it in disbelief.

"What the hell?! Why the hell are you lying in the middle of the grass like that?" A subdued version of the growling voice from earlier said as the red head dusted his arms off.

"You ruined my sketchbook."

"What?" He leant forwards, peering over Haru's shoulder to get a proper look at the book lying wrecked on the grass. "It's not too bad. You can buy another one, right?"

Haruka's head snapped around, his blue eyes dancing with a swirl of frustration that had been steadily building since his first failed-attempt at drawing. A million things wanted to spill from his tongue – "No, I can't buy another one." "It was my favourite sketchbook." "Why are you such an idiot?" "Can't you watch where you're walking?" – but he remained silent. He didn't have the energy to get into an argument of any sort.

For the first time that day his luck kicked into action.

"Matsuoka-senpai!" the smaller boy from before came running towards the red heads aid, looking more flustered than he had before as he fell to his side, grabbing 'Matsuoka-senpai's' arm to hoist him from the ground. As soon as the two of them were on their feet, he bowed, and said in a fast, frantic voice, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean for you to get hurt!"

The red head sighed, "Alright, just…leave my stuff alone, okay?"

"Yes! I promise!"

Haruka watched the display with only mild curiosity, wondering only briefly what could have happened to cause the argument – could it even have been classed as an argument? – between the two of them, before diverting his attention back towards his sketchbook. With a frustrated sigh of his own, he gathered it in his arms and made to leave.

"About your sketchbook…" the red heads voice caught his attention, stopping him just before he walked away. "Was it important?"

"Yes."

"Sorry."

'_Sorry?'_ Was that all he was going to say? Haruka was _fuming_ and he knew he was being irrational, but couldn't he say anything other than '_sorry?'_

Without another word, Haruka turned on his heels and walked away, ignoring the confused and annoyed sounds coming from behind him. He had had enough today, he was going home.

He decided he really, _really, _ disliked this place.

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**So, what did you think? I hope this chapter was enjoyable, because believe me, it's only going to get better from here!**

**- Jade. **


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